


Wild

by sleeprettydarling



Category: Music RPF, The Beatles
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, M/M, like seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 11:43:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5538593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeprettydarling/pseuds/sleeprettydarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Somehow, carrying an unconscious shark man from the beach to his house was the easy part."</p><p>Paul discovers mershark John washed ashore and tries to help, with mixed results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wild

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this nearly a year ago, in response to [this request](http://twinkjohn.tumblr.com/post/111329529450/could-you-please-write-something-about-paul-giving) on Tumblr. Mershark John is actually a fully developed idea; it was the first AU [Kenzie](http://twitter.com/ughpaul) and I made up together, and if you follow either of us on Twitter you've probably seen us talking about him. And you know how seriously we take this!! 
> 
> For now there's only this part, but since it is such a fully developed story, there may actually be more in the future. Who knows. 
> 
> I was really reluctant to post this here (hence the 10 month delay), since I don't expect anyone other than Kenzie and myself to really enjoy it, but for whatever reason I just decided--fuck it. Maybe someone will get a kick out of it. Plus it's Christmas and I wanted to surprise you guys with a Dear Friend update, but that didn't quite work out as planned, so..? Here's this instead. Mileage may vary.

Somehow, carrying an unconscious shark man from the beach to his house was the easy part.  Paul hadn't prepared himself for the guy—the shark—the _mershark_ , to wake up abruptly in the middle of the bathroom floor, writhing angrily and letting out an inhuman sound that hissed out between its pointed teeth.  

Paul managed to leap back before those very teeth embedded themselves in his ankle, and he huddled up on the closed toilet, drawing his legs up to his chest as he observed the creature on the floor.  He'd thought it was near death, which is why he'd brought it home in the first place.  Its tail, spotted in an elegant pattern like a leopard shark, was dry and cracked, with fine sand packed into the irritated-looking lacerations.  From the waist up, the creature appeared human, though the spots continued onto his slim waist.  Fins jutted from his forearms, also mottled with small blots of deep brown.  

Despite the dry, pallid skin, it had looked rather peaceful while unconscious, harmless; warm brown hair framing a smooth, pale face, eyes hidden behind softly closed lids with long, dark lashes.  Now, however, the mershark glared up at him with black, angry eyes, lips pulled back to reveal its teeth, clawed fingers digging jagged lines into the linoleum floor. 

"Hey," Paul said, his voice soft and kind.  He felt somewhat ridiculous; a mershark couldn't possibly speak his language, but Paul didn't know what else to do.  He certainly couldn't risk getting close again, not without a way to avoid those teeth, which, despite being in a human mouth, looked as dangerous as any real shark's.  

Paul cleared his throat awkwardly, disheartened by the snarl he'd received in response.  "Er—are you all right, then?  I thought you were dying, is all.  If I'd known you'd wake up I would've just pushed you back into the ocean, y'know, so what I mean is I can carry you back, if you'd like."  

The creature blinked at him, and maybe it was Paul's imagination, but there seemed to be a glimmer of understanding in those eyes; a deep, burning intelligence that Paul swore hadn't been there mere seconds ago.  Another blink, and its eyes almost looked human, light brown and lovely.  Though its teeth were still bared in warning, the blank, feral look was gone, replaced now with an expression that was almost tame, thoughtful.  

A human tongue darted out from behind the pointed teeth, dampening cracked, bleeding lips. 

Paul gestured to the tub.  "I ran a bath, I was just about to put you in it when you woke up."  He leaned over, keeping his eyes on his strange guest, dipping a cupped hand into the bath and lifting it, showing that it was water.  "It's warm—I didn't know what you'd like.  I can drain it if you'd rather have it cold—or hotter, I can do that, too.  I thought it might be safer for you to recover here."  

Distrustful eyes remained locked on Paul, and Paul held the creature's gaze as it dragged itself along the floor—destroying the linoleum in its wake, and leaving behind a darkish smear that Paul worried was old blood.  Still, Paul did nothing; he sat quietly and allowed the mershark to make its way to the tub.  It looked away from Paul only to peer at the water.  It dipped its clawed hand in the same way Paul had done just moments before, cupping the water and letting drain out between the gaps of his fingers.  

Once more, its eyes met Paul's.  "Put me in here."  For a creature Paul didn't even know existed until about an hour ago, its English was amazingly good.  Its voice was light and airy, almost melodic, and Paul stared in awe, his mouth hanging open.  " _Well?_ " it prompted, impatient, and holy shit, it was _rude_ ; Paul laughed in delight.  

"All right, all right, hang on.  I didn't think you could understand me."  

The mershark only shrugged, looking back toward the water with a painful sort of longing.  Its arms were trembling with the effort of keeping its torso held up high enough to look into the bath—it was a survival thing, Paul thought, to try to hide weakness.  For as dangerous and strangely cocky as the mershark seemed, Paul had to wonder how bad its condition really was for this shred of fatigue to sneak past its defenses.  

Moving cautiously from his spot on the toilet, Paul knelt by the creature's side and laid his hands on the painfully dry skin.  He'd expected another warning hiss, but there was only a sigh of resignation as the creature went limp against Paul's touch. 

  
"Christ, you're dry," Paul commented, angling one arm under the thick, heavy tail, the other around human shoulders.  "I reckon you're supposed to be kind of moist, right?  Slimy?  Like a fish?"  

There was a tired snort that was probably meant to be something of a laugh, though no further response followed.  Once Paul had a good grip, he carefully lifted the mershark from the floor, its head lolling weakly against Paul's shoulder.  

"I've got you," Paul said needlessly, lifting it up and over the porcelain side of the tub.  

The tip of the tail touched the water first, and it was like an electric shock.  The creature seemed to come alive again, writhing and twisting in Paul's grasp until Paul could hold on no longer, and it fell into the tub with a mighty splash, spraying water up the walls and all over Paul.  

"What the _fuck!_ " Paul yelled, falling back.  He noticed belatedly that water had even splashed onto the ceiling, now dripping down steadily.  The mershark's body continued to arch at impossible angles, its tail flopping as if trying to swim, slapping against the water in repeated, deafening cracks, more than half of the tub's contents already gone. 

"You've got to be _still_ , what are you _doing_?"  On impulse, Paul lunged forward to grab at the tail.  At first, Paul was certain that the pain that followed was surely from the force of the tail breaking his arm on contact—it was a pain unlike any Paul had ever felt before, like a pinch that somehow went bone-deep with white-hot agony.  Then he noticed the red spilling into the water like drops of ink, and then finally the mouth, fixed onto his bicep with the strength of a sprung trap.  

Paul screamed.  

He couldn't help it.  He screamed and hit at the creature with as much strength as he could muster with his free arm, hand curled into a tight fist, hitting its face and its shoulders until it finally released him, snarling and recoiling to the far end of the tub.  

Paul left it there without a second glance, grabbing a towel from the rack and holding it over the wound as he stormed from the bathroom.  Later, he'd tell his quietly suspicious doctor that he was bitten by a dog—"yes, it was my dog, _yes_ , it's up to date on its vaccinations, no, it's not vicious—it was an accident."  Once the bite was cleaned and the deeper areas were stitched closed, the rest carefully bandaged, Paul left wondering why he'd lied at all.  

A fucking mershark bit him—a mershark!  All Paul would have to do is convince someone to believe him, and then some scientist would swoop in and take the creature off his hands, no questions asked.  He might even make a little profit.  But then, isn't that why Paul took it home in the first place?  Who's to say it wouldn't be killed and dissected on the spot, reduced to some morbid science experiment?  

Despite his anger, and the low burning fear in his chest, Paul would never wish that on anyone.  Even if the mershark looked half-human, it was nothing more than a wild animal; Paul had pushed its boundaries and it had reacted in fear.  That was to be expected.  

Still, Paul hesitated at his front door for a long time, unwilling to twist the key and let himself in.  Though he knew better, a part of him feared that the creature would have somehow escaped the tub and lay in wait for him now just beyond the door.  It took all of Paul's willpower to keep from going to the windows and trying to peer between the cracks of the curtains.  He had the upper hand.  He had legs, he could _run_ , and now he knew not to get too comfortable.  

It was dark inside the house, eerily quiet.  As Paul approached the bathroom, he found a part of himself hoping that he'd find the creature dead.  It'd be a shame, and Paul would no doubt feel responsible for it, but in his mind he could still see those blank, monstrous eyes, could hear the sound of his own blood splattering into the water.  His arm still ached, throbbing in time with his quickening pulse.  When he reached the bathroom door, he pressed his ear against it, listening.  

When there was only silence, Paul steeled himself and opened the door.  The first thing he noticed was water, splashing underfoot as he made his way in.  The wallpaper was wet and wrinkled, torn in places where the mershark had tried to climb its way to freedom.  The shower curtain was also in tatters, shredded pieces torn off and littering the floor.  And there, in the middle of it all, was the creature itself, pressed flat along the bottom of the tub in a futile attempt to submerge itself in the mere inches of dirty water that still remained.  

It blinked up at Paul as he entered, lifting its head.  "I thought you were never coming back." 

There was a strange sincerity in its voice, apologetic and worried.  The escape attempts were suddenly understandable, and Paul felt rather guilty for leaving it alone for so long with no explanation.  

"Sorry.  I had to get this taken care of."  He lifted his arm, letting the creature study the bandages with narrow, curious eyes.  "I was scared," he said slowly, pointedly.  "I thought you were going to rip my arm off."  

Its eyes cut away guiltily, staring at the bar of soap—which Paul noticed had a bite taken out of it.  

"Look," Paul continued.  "I don't want to hurt you.  If you don't want to be here, I'll let you go.  All right?  Let's just be nice to each other."  

He was answered only with a nod, but it was enough for Paul to release the nervous breath he'd been holding.  

"I'm going to drain the rest of the water," Paul said.  "It's going to be loud—don't panic.  Then I'm going to fill it up again, and you're going to be still so the water stays in the tub this time.  Okay?"  

He waited for the nod before he proceeded.  Though the creature jumped when the water began to drain, it otherwise remained still, holding its folded tail against its chest.  The posture was so human that Paul couldn't help but smile.  He wanted to reach out, put a hand on its shoulder for comfort, but that would be too much.  They had an understanding, but they had to go slow.  Baby steps.  

When the tub was filled once more with warm, clean water, the mershark slowly extended its tail and laid back against the edge, sighing.  Gills along the sides of its ribs opened up when they were submerged, and for a moment, Paul could only stare in fascination.  They fluttered gently in the water, delicate and thin as butterfly wings.  Its skin was already regaining some color, pinkish and alive around the gills and in its cheeks, and Paul was content to let it rest here as long as it needed. 

 He stood, wiping uselessly at the damp places on his jeans.  "I'm going to step out for a while.  I'll be right outside if you need me, so don't tear up the walls anymore." 

The mershark lifted its brows, mischief sparkling in its eyes.  "I'll try."  

Paul turned toward the door and, after a moment of hesitation, faced his guest once more.  "I'm Paul, by the way." 

"Paul," it repeated, the sound of it sending a burst of warmth through Paul's chest.  

It told Paul its name, though it sounded like a gurgling hiss, until finally, Paul offered, "John?" 

"Yeah."  John was smiling, and despite the teeth, he seemed suddenly kind.  "John.  Close enough."  

Paul returned the smile, unable to stop himself.  "I'll check on you in a bit." 

John's eyes, however, were already closed.  As quietly as he could, Paul switched off the light and let himself out.  He'd probably return John to the ocean tomorrow, but for now, Paul was grateful for the company. 


End file.
